ould accord to the French such a king, the true
faith would soon shine throughout the universe.

The sixth book exhibits the luxury of Alexander at Babylon, the capture
of Susa, the pillage of Persepolis. Here the poet forgets the recorded
excesses of his hero with Thais by his side, and the final orgy when the
celebrated city was given to the flames at the bidding of a courtesan;
but he dwells on an incident of his own invention, which is calculated
to excite emotions of honor rather than of condemnation. Alexander meets
three thousand Greek prisoners, wretchedly humiliated by the Persians,
and delivers them. He leaves to them the choice of returning to Greece,
or of fixing themselves in the country there on lands which he promises
to distribute. Some propose to return. Others insist, that, in their
hideous condition, they cannot return to the eyes of their families and
friends, when an orator declares that it is always pleasant to see again
one's country, that there is nothing shameful in the condition caused by
a barbarous enemy, and that it is unjust to those who love them to think
that they will not be glad to see them. A few follow the orator; but the
larger part remain behind, and receive from their liberator the land
which he had promised, also money, flocks, and all that was necessary
for a farmer.

The seventh book exhibits the treason of Bessus substantially as in
Quintus Curtius. Darius, with chains of gold on his feet, is carried in
a covered carriage to be delivered up. Alexander, who was still in
pursuit of his enemy, is horror-struck by the crime. He moves with more
rapidity to deliver or to avenge the Persian monarch than he had ever
moved to his defeat. He is aroused against the criminals, like Jupiter
pursuing the giants with his thunder. Darius is found in his carriage
covered with wounds and bathed in his blood. With the little breath that
remains, and while yet struggling on the last confines of life, he makes
a long speech, which the poet follows with bitter ejaculations of his
own against his own age, beginning with venal Simon and his followers,
and ending with the assassins of Thomas a Becket:--

"Non adeo ambiret cathedraae venalis honorem
Jam vetus ille Simon, non incentiva malorum
Pollueret sacras funesta pecunia sedes."

Thus here again the poet precedes Dante, whose terrible condemnation of
Simon has a kindred bitterness:--

"O Simon mago, o miseri seguaci,
Che